


Wrap Me In This Dream

by wingsofbadass



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Explicict Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Military Police Marco, Morning Sex, Smut, Survey Corps Jean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 11:10:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4098871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingsofbadass/pseuds/wingsofbadass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Marco, loving Jean means missing him. But sometimes, loving Jean means taking care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrap Me In This Dream

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to Fleckofpoppy, who is an actual angel for putting up with me and betaing this in the middle of the night.

Marco awoke with a startling abruptness. His room lay in a silvery darkness, the glow of the almost full moon forming pools of faded light in the quarters he called home these days. He stretched with a groan, arching his back off the springy old mattress and letting his hands touch the wall in an attempt to dispel the kinks from his body.

Waking from nightmares wasn't a novelty to him, or anyone in the military, really. For him, they had started in Trost and had been faithful companions since. There was the one where he was ripped apart by a monstrous gullet, large teeth cutting through his flesh and tearing off half of his face, parts on his body, only to leave him screaming and thrashing on the ground like a useless rag doll. There was the one where he himself was the one destroying his friends and family, sinking his teeth into people he loved as they pleaded and cried. And there was the one where he was too late, the one where he found the broken body in the street, tiny and weak in death, brilliant amber eyes staring into nothing.

With a gulp, Marco shoved those images away. It was bad enough he had to endure them in his sleep. He didn't need to dwell on them when he was awake as well.

What was different tonight, however, was the fact it didn't _seem_ like he'd dreamed anything awful. When he raised his hand to his forehead, his fingers were steady. There was neither sweat nor tears on his face. And all he could remember from his dream was a smile, a warm smile he'd been missing for so long.

Marco started slightly at the knock at the door.

With a heavy heart, he kicked the sheets off himself and scrambled to his feet to open it. He felt cold in his short-sleeved shirt. In the middle of the night, this could only mean bad news, and his mind raced with the horrible possibilities; a breach in the wall, an attack on the king, a death.

Marco's hand was shaking as he reached out to unlock the door. Would anyone know to send notice if something happened to _him_? Surely at least their friends from their training days would know. They had never exactly kept it a secret. But would word even reach him? Marco felt like he was going to be sick.

When he opened the door, however, it didn't reveal another member of the Military Police bearing a grim expression and bad news. Instead his eyes fell onto broad shoulders enveloped in a forest green cloak and a streak of dried blood and a tired smile that was just a ghost of the confident smirk of his youth.

He barely had time to gasp out Jean's name and take a step forward, before Jean was in his arms. Marco held him tightly around the waist, heart thrumming to life as though it had been kickstarted by Jean's presence. Jean's hands were curled into the fabric of Marco's shirt, weakly holding onto his chest, as he allowed himself to crumple, to lean his trembling body on Marco with a sigh. Marco just held him tighter, holding up Jean's weight and whispering reassurances into his hair.

Resisting the urge to pick Jean up and carry him to the bed, because he knew Jean wouldn't have appreciated that, Marco lead him backwards until he could lower him onto the mattress.

“Where are you going?” Jean asked, voice lost and small, when Marco pulled away to go close the door. Jean had grabbed onto the edge of his shirt, holding Marco close like a scared child.

Carefully, he disentangled Jean's fingers from his shirt, then leaned down to press his lips to dry knuckles. “I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right back, okay?” The way Jean nodded, anxiousness leaving his eyes at the reassurance, threatened to knock Marco over.

Jean was here, had appeared like a phantom in the night, with his strength drained and his wings limp. It was not the Jean Marco usually saw; the one who came riding back into the safety of the walls with sadness wearing him down, but pride at his own survival holding his head up. It was not the Jean whose morose face brightened at the sight of Marco standing in the street, who jumped off his horse and rushed over to kiss him breathless.

Seeing Jean return to him safely was the greatest gift he could ask for and yet, he wished he didn't have to watch Jean grow more weary and sorrowful each time.

Jean hadn't moved an inch when Marco returned to him with a basin of warm water which he set onto the hardwood floor in front of the bed. He knelt where Jean's feet hung off the end of the mattress.

“What happened?” he asked carefully, taking hold of Jean's right boot and beginning to tug it off.

At first, he thought Jean might have fallen asleep. Marco slipped the long boot off Jean's leg, letting his hands linger, moving the strap of the maneuver gear out of the way to pull off his sock. When he dug his thumbs into the arch of his foot, a grateful groan escaped Jean.

“I lost a couple of kids,” Jean answered through gritted teeth. Marco saw him bury his fingers in the bed sheets, knuckles standing out against his skin as his fist shook. “They'd just finished training. And I couldn't do anything.”

“I'm sorry.” Marco freed Jean's left foot of boot and sock, giving it a firm rub as well, before he got up and knelt on the bed.

As he felt the mattress dip next to him, Jean opened his eyes to look up at Marco. Even with a dirty bandage around his head and dried blood streaked over his temple and down to his neck, where it disappeared under his collar, and flecks of dirt on his cheek, Jean looked beautiful. More than ever, he seemed like a ghost in the silvery light streaming in through the window. His lids were heavy and his gaze intense, sparking a heat in Marco's stomach that had very little to do with the desire that usually consumed them during their reunions.

Marco swallowed and lowered his eyes to Jean's chest where the Wings of Freedom sewn into his jacket were visible under the cloak. They didn't speak while Marco removed both, trying his hardest to keep Jean's need to move to an absolute minimum. Every time Jean bemoaned having to raise a limb, Marco made sure to kiss it in apology, to turn Jean's noises of discomfort into those of relief.

He moved slowly, as he started to unbuckle the Three Dimensional Maneuver Gear. The clink of the metal seemed loud in the quiet of the night, like a disturbance in what Marco wanted to hear most in the world – Jean's even breathing. When he had finally gotten all the leather straps off of Jean, he tossed them over the edge of the bed carelessly.

“Careful with that,” Jean grumbled, the corner of his mouth turned up slightly. “That's my lucky gear.”

“Oh, really?” Marco asked in a teasing tone, laying down on his side next to Jean. He trailed a palm up Jean's stomach, over the cloth of his shirt, up his chest, to cradle his jaw. Jean leaned into the touch, lids fluttering closed.

“Mh-hhmm,” he confirmed, eyes still shut. “It's the one we inaugurated in this very bed. Remember?”

Marco was glad Jean wasn't looking at him, because he could feel heat shoot into his face at the memory. In hopes of covering up his abashment, he leaned down and brushed his lips against Jean's gently. Jean returned the kiss with a hum, lips chapped but warm.

“How could I forget?” Marco replied eventually, resting his forehead against Jean's, who gave another hum, this one sounding a little amused. He'd seen right through him, as always. “And how is it lucky?”

“Haven't gotten hurt in it yet,” Jean said, looking up to meet Marco's gaze. “Must be because you touched it.”

Marco felt something in his chest twist at those words. They came with a leaden weight he was all too familiar with. He couldn't stand to see that fear, that horrible _what if_ reflected in Jean's reddened, tired eyes. He'd do anything to free him from it, anything.

“How touching,” he smirked, pressing their mouths together again. He could feel Jean laugh into the kiss, then weakly slap his upper arm.

“You suck,” he whispered, when Marco broke away from his lips, gaze so soft it made Marco's heart stutter in his chest.

Jean let his eyes fall closed again when Marco began unbuttoning his shirt. He looked so utterly exhausted, younger than his twenty-five years with the vulnerability in his features. But at the same time he seemed so much older with the shadows under his eyes and the lines pain and sorrow had etched into his face.

As Jean's shirt fell away to reveal chafed skin where the leather straps had dug into him and several bruises, Marco swallowed down the lump in his throat. As gently as he could, he traced the blemishes with the tips of his fingers, watching Jean shiver at the touch. He kissed every single one, breathing warmth and admiration against the pale skin. Jean's hand twitched on the sheets, as though he wanted to touch Marco, but couldn't quite muster the energy.

“I missed you,” he sighed against Jean's chest, dragging his lips down further.

In reply, Jean gave a distinctly sleepy hum, clearly struggling to stay awake. “Missed you too,” he slurred, “every single moment.”

Marco reached the edge of Jean's pants, where he took a moment to nose along those sharp hip bones, a constant that had never changed over the years as Jean had filled out, had become more muscular and less lanky. He loved them, loved how they reminded him of their training days when he'd first discovered just how sensitive Jean was there. Even now, Jean couldn't help his hips from squirming the tiniest bit at the touch.

Deciding to have mercy, Marco abandoned that patch of skin and brought his fingers to the catch of Jean's pants to open them. With Jean too tired and uncooperative to lift his butt off the bed, Marco struggled with pulling them off. When a particularly hard tug accomplished nothing but dragging Jean down the mattress, Jean let out a light giggle he would never have allowed to slip past his lips were he more conscious. It was so adorable, Marco couldn't keep himself from leaning up and kissing Jean's lips once more.

“A little help?” he asked, voice low. Jean smiled, his eyes still closed, and dug his feet into the bed to raise his hips with a groan. Marco succeeded in pulling off the white pants along with his underwear, which joined the rest of Jean's uniform on the floor, before he set to reward Jean by kissing along the painful welts over his thighs.

Jean sighed, such a happy sound that it sent something in Marco' chest aflutter. He knew Jean loved sleeping naked after missions, after being forced to spend the nights in his complete uniform for the sake of constant readiness to move. He knew that the real freedom Jean craved right now was to cast off the burden of those wings and settle into the calm he found in this bed.

After a moment, Jean slid his slender fingers into Marco's hair, guiding him back up. “Come here.”

When their lips met again, Jean deepened the kiss instantly, groaning breathlessly into the heat of Marco's mouth. The way they kissed each other was slow, intense, lips and tongues silently writing out the words they couldn't bear to say because with each time, they felt more like a good-bye.

Soon, Jean became sluggish, though, as if dragged down by crushing weights. His hand fell from Marco's hair as the struggle to hold it up became too much. Marco was just about to break away from his lips, when he felt Jean's cold fingers tug at the waistband of his pajama bottoms, inching their way deeper.

“What are you doing?”, he asked, taking hold of Jean's wrist and stilling its movement. “You can barely keep your eyes open.”

Never one to back down from a challenge, Jean looked up at Marco, blinking rapidly to keep his lids from growing too heavy again. “I want you.” The words were wobbly on his lips, barely there as he fought his fatigue.

“No, you want to sleep,” Marco retorted gently, raising Jean's hand to his lips and kissing the calloused skin in his palm.

“I didn't come here to sleep,” Jean grumbled stubbornly, eyebrows scrunching up in irritation. His thumb stroked lightly over Marco's cheek. “I came here to see you.”

Chest hurting, Marco ducked his head once more to kiss Jean softly, whose hand still lingered against his jaw. “It's okay. We'll have more time together,” he breathed against Jean's lips. When Jean seemed like he was about to argue, he added, “If you go out there unrested, you might not come back to me.”

Jean swallowed heavily. “I'll always come back to you.”

“Humor me,” Marco said with a smile he hoped didn't look as sad as it felt. “Get some rest.”

Luckily, Jean was too weak to resist. A sigh of defeat floated up from his lips, warm against Marco's, and his eyes fluttered closed one last time. Careful not to jostle Jean too much, Marco leaned over the side of the bed and fished the cloth out of the basin of still warm water. After wringing it out, he brought it to Jean's temple, tenderly rubbing at the blood that had dried on his skin.

When Jean was free of blood, Marco soaked the rag once more in the basin, watching the red swirl out of the cloth and tinge the water with its violence. He didn't stop there, though. A low thrum rose from Jean's throat in appreciation, as Marco brought the damp rag back to skin to swipe along Jean's collarbones, past his chest, over his whole body. He was silent while he worked, focused on wiping off the dirt and the grime of the mission, on washing away the ache from tired muscles.

From the way Jean's lips parted just a bit to let out the tiniest sound of pleasure, Marco could tell he was still awake, although finally seemed to have been drained of his last energy. With every slow drag of the towel over Jean's skin, Marco could hear his breathing relax, feel his battered body slacken into the mattress as all the tension left him.

Although Jean usually slept on his side, curled up in a ball to preserve what little heat his body produced – a habit born from fitful sleep outside of the walls – he drifted off to sleep on his back now. Marco put the rag aside and took off his own clothes, deciding to mirror Jean in his nakedness, before he pulled the comforter over them. Marco was determined to stay awake, to not take his eyes off Jean for a single moment, but the last thing he was aware of was taking hold of Jean's hand and not letting go.

 

* * *

 

Marco awoke with a giddy warmth in his chest that reminded him of his birthday back home. Excitement had always roused him in an instant, a buzz in his veins lending him the energy he usually lacked in the morning, a smile on his face before he had even opened his eyes. These days he knew this feeling had nothing to do with home, at least not the one back in Jinae.

He opened his eyes to the most breathtaking image he could envision.

Jean was sprawled out in his bed, sun kissing at his exposed shoulders, unruly hair sticking out in every direction. Sometime in the night he must've rolled onto his side to get more comfortable, turning his back to Marco. He reached out a hand and trailed the tips of his fingers over Jean's shoulder blades, watching goosebumps break out over his skin.

 _Beautiful_ , was all he could think. And Jean was whole and he was _here_ , with him.

Marco had always been weak when it came to Jean, and he still was. He inched closer, pressing himself against Jean's warm back with a sigh. Arm sliding around Jean's waist, Marco pulled him in closer still. He needed to feel him, needed him close, needed him.

A warm hum from Jean told him he was rousing as well. As Marco trailed brief little kisses over his shoulder, Jean threaded their fingers together, squeezing gently.

 _How long do we have?_ was the question on the tip of Marco's tongue. But he knew he didn't want to hear the answer, not really. Because no matter what Jean said, it would not be enough. So instead, he buried his face in the crook of Jean's neck, tightening his grip.

Jean knew about his tendency to overthink, knew how to read his every move. And Jean also knew how to make him stop thinking.

Air left Marco's lungs in a gasp, when Jean arched his back to press his bare ass against him. Taking the opportunity gratefully, Marco pressed back against Jean, rubbing against his firm cheeks. Familiar heat flooded his body and he brought his mouth back to Jean's skin to nip at it affectionately. With a sigh, Jean tilted his head to offer Marco better access to the side of his neck and _oh_ , Marco had missed this so much.

Leaving Jean's hand on the sheets, he slid his palm down Jean's stomach, along the coarse hair trailing down from his belly button, relishing the way the muscles jumped at his touch. Jean had so much power over him, could bring him to his knees with just the way his body reacted to him. It was so addicting, and whenever Marco thought he could get over it, Jean returned to him, breathless and shaking and desperate for him.

Jean's dick was starting to harden when he slid the pads of his fingers over the silky skin. The shivery way in which Jean breathed out had Marco rolling his hips against Jean's with more urgency, in search of that amazing friction. He kept his fingers light on Jean, barely touching, and had him arching into it in desperation mirroring his own.

“Don't do this to me,” Jean breathed, twisting at the waist to turn his torso back toward Marco, who obliged his unspoken plea and leaned down to kiss him. They were both breathing hard into the kiss, the wet slide of their tongues hot and intoxicating. Just like in the previous night, Jean's hand came up to cup the back of Marco's head, fingers twisting in between the strands. “Touch me.”

Unable to deny Jean a single thing when his voice was barely more than a hoarse whisper, Marco wrapped his fingers around Jean's cock and started stroking him slowly.

“Anything you want,” he promised, groaned into Jean's ear who shuddered beautifully. He was so _sensitive_ in the morning, and it was one of Marco's favorite things. High strung as he was, there was little that got him as mellow and relaxed as a good night's sleep, making him more than just susceptible to Marco's touches, making him melt into his embrace.

Jean's fingers tightened in Marco's hair, just short of pulling, when he concentrated the tight ring of his fingers on the head of Jean's dick, playing with the ridge and tip. Watching shrap eyes cloud with pleasure at his touch, seeing Jean's lips fall open on a soft sigh was almost too much. Marco brought their mouths back together, kissing Jean with desperate lips.

“I want you inside of me,” Jean moaned against him and Marco could feel his own hard dick twitch at the words, dragging heavily against Jean's ass. It was a struggle to let go of Jean. He kept kissing and kissing every spot of bruised skin he could reach as though he was parting with him for good, before he got himself to roll away to reach the drawer in his bedside table.

Jean had turned onto his back to watch him with his teeth digging into his lower lips, now stroking himself. The sight was so amazing that Marco almost upended the whole vial of oil over the sheets. With Jean's playful chuckle in his ears, Marco sprawled back next to Jean, lips turned into a pout. Letting himself be pulled down for more kisses, Marco found himself unable to keep up the frown, his lips instead breaking into a wide smile. He nudged his nose against Jean's.

“How do you wanna do this?”

“Hhmm, I could ride you.” Jean said, catching Marco's bottom lip between his teeth and carefully tugging once, twice, making him shudder.

“Could you?” Marco asked skeptically, trailing a soothing palm up and down Jean's waist. “You could barely raise an arm last night.”

Jean opened his mouth to argue, but seemed to falter, before he had even gotten a word out. He pressed his lips back together, looking bashful, absolutely endearing, and let out a huff when Marco kissed him, apparently disappointed. Marco didn't know what was going through his head to make him change his mind so abruptly, but he figured he could provide Jean with just as much pleasurable oblivion as he received.

“Let me be good to you,” he mumbled and turned Jean back onto his side, melting against his back again. After pressing a kiss to Jean's ear, he poured some of the oil from the open vial over his fingers and put it aside. Without needing to be told, Jean hiked his leg up towards his chest, knee bent against the mattress.

Jean's whole body tensed in anticipation when Marco's slick finger circled his entrance. Whispered words and warm kisses on his jaw made him relax after a moment and only then did Marco sink a tip into him. A breathy moan was torn from Jean's lips, such a sexy sound Marco had been starving for. Gingerly, he slid his finger in deeper, marveling at how amazing it felt, at how it had him completely hard again in seconds. Mouth open, panting pitifully into Jean's ear, he rubbed his erection against him in time with the thrusting of his finger.

Opening Jean up for his dick was always an intense experience that made Marco doubt he would be able to hold out until he was actually inside of him. Jean _loved_ it, loved the feeling of his fingers, loved the way Marco curled them and thrust them so much it had him shaking, moaning shamelessly with his mouth hanging open. When Marco brushed a particularly sensitive spot inside of him, Jean shuddered violently.

“Haahhh, there, right there,” he gasped and Marco groaned against Jean's skin, absolutely powerless against the way he sounded. He pressed the tips of two fingers into that spot, rubbing firmly and watching with his heart fluttering in his throat as Jean fell apart, trembling and pushing his ass into the touch for more.

“You're killing me,” Marco rasped against Jean's jaw, hips rolling desperately against him. In reply, Jean openly begged for more, face half buried in the sheets with his cheeks burning. Marco complied, opening Jean further with careful touches, although he was barely able to think straight at this point.

When Marco finally removed his fingers, he lost no time slicking up his own dick, then steadied it to press into Jean. They both moaned when the tip slipped into his tight heat, Marco's head falling forward to rest his forehead against Jean's sweaty temple. Slinging his arm around Jean's waist, he pulled him back onto his dick slowly, sinking deeper and deeper into the amazing feeling of finally being joined again.

Looking over Jean's shoulder, Marco saw a thick drop of precome drip from the tip of Jean's cock, smearing onto the sheets. The sight sent a wave of heat crashing through his body.

Mindless moans poured from Jean's lips, when Marco gave a first tentative roll of his hips, and his fingers flew to Marco's forearm, blunt nails digging in slightly.

“Feel good?” Marco asked, voice husky and laced with the pleasure that was singing in his veins. He pulled back, almost all the way out, before thrusting in slowly, deep, until his balls touched Jean's ass. Jean seemed beyond words, just groaning at the feeling in reply.

Being inside Jean was overwhelming. Marco pushed himself against his lover, chest so close against back that he could feel every single shiver, feel every muscle twitch. Finally feeling Jean again had his mind in a haze of happiness and desire, both burning hot in the pit of his stomach. Everything in his world was Jean in that moment – his soft skin, his weak voice, his familiar scent. Marco didn't think he could bear this feeling much longer without bursting.

As he continued to thrust into Jean, slow and powerful, he brought his mouth to Jean's neck, kissing and licking at the sensitive spots he knew so well. Jean let out a strangled sound, when Marco closed his lips on him, sucking harshly to leave a mark. It might have been a little immature, the desire to leave some trace of himself on Jean, some memory that what they had was indeed real, but he could never quite help himself. He tightened his arm around Jean, cradling him close, hungry for that intimacy.

With each thrust, Jean met Marco's hips with his own and the obscene, wet sounds they caused with each movement only served to make Marco's head swim more with lust. It felt incredible, the way Jean was tight around him, the friction hot and snug on his dick, and he couldn't stop the helpless sounds he was whimpering against Jean's skin. Only after a few moments did he realize it was Jean's name that was falling from his mouth over and over.

Holding him like this, feeling Jean against his chest, where his own heart was hammering wildly against his rib cage, was all he lived for these days. Endless hours of loneliness and fear fell away with Jean there and it was almost as though he was his younger self again, unburdened and unbroken and falling hard for the brash boy in his arms. Love bubbled up in his chest, uncontrollable and lush, and he didn't stop it from spilling from his lips. He breathed the sentiment onto Jean's skin, where they joined all the previous words he'd ever kissed into him.

Jean's hips began to twitch more frantically as he grew more desperate for friction. It cost all of Marco's self-control to not give into the urge to speed up his thrusts, to slam himself into Jean with everything he had, as much as he wanted to. But he knew Jean came harder like this, when he took it slow, slow enough to drive him wild.

“Slow down,” Marco choked out, breathing ragged, as he trailed open-mouthed kisses along the edge of Jean's jaw to soothe him, calm him. “I got you.”

Jean's hand slid down Marco's arm until it found his, weaving their fingers together for a moment, before leading it down to his dick.

“Please,” he begged with his broken voice, still trying to coax Marco into a harder stroke with his hips. There was still some residue of oil clinging to his palm that made his hand glide easily along Jean's cock, and he stroked him with a tight grip that had Jean fist his hand in the sheets, moaning shakily.

Marco could feel Jean's orgasm build as he continued to move his dick into him, hips slapping against his ass loudly. Jean's body tensed up slowly, his ass growing tighter and tighter the closer he brought him to the edge.

“M-Marco, oh fuck, _aaahhh_.” Hearing Jean whine his name like that finally shattered Marco's resolve. With a gasp, he gave in and started to slam his hips into Jean, every powerful thrust jolting Jean's tense body just the tiniest bit across the mattress. Marco slid his other arm under Jean, held him tight, as his feet scrambled for purchase to lend force to his movements. Jean was so loud now, pleasured sounds being fucked out of him every time Marco slid into him hard.

Jean was so close, he could tell. His heart was beating wildly under Marco's palm on his chest. Feeling his own orgasm threatening to overwhelm him, Marco bit into Jean's neck, setting to suck another mark onto heated skin. When Jean's breath hitched, his moaning pitched higher, and he tightened so good, Marco nearly lost his mind. In their position, Marco wished he could see more of Jean's face and the expression of absolute bliss that had undoubtedly bloomed over his features. He could never get enough of seeing all the pain and worries slip from Jean's sharp features, the way his orgasm exposed him at his most bare, most defenseless.

He could feel it, though. When Jean came, eyes squeezed shut and mouth hanging open, he tensed for just a heartbeat, before violent shudders rocked his body and made him squirm in Marco's embrace. It was almost as though Jean was trying to get away from him, as though the sensation was too much, too intense, if it weren't for the way he clasped Marco's hand over his heart while he moaned, sobbed in sweet relief. Marco fucked him through it, hand still working his dick as thick spurts of come coated his fingers.

Just as Jean's body began to relax back into the mattress, Marco couldn't hold back anymore. With a powerless whimper, he let himself tumble into the hot bliss of his orgasm, hips pounding into Jean's oversensitive body, hand holding onto Jean's prominent hipbone. They shuddered and groaned together as they came down from their shared high and Marco's thrusts gradually slowed down to bury himself _deep_ inside Jean one last time.

For a couple of moments, they lay like that, breath hot on sweaty skin. A tremor ripped through Marco's right thigh, when Jean reached down to feel the join of their bodies with gentle fingers. It felt special in a way Marco would never be able to put into words, but he didn't have to. That single touch proved as much. When Jean finally twisted around for a soft kiss, Marco slipped out of him, making them both hum into it.

“Thank you for coming back to me,” Marco whispered, lips lingering on Jean's, a little afraid he might startle the peaceful air that had settled around them. And indeed, Jean's face fell slightly with the realization that this happiness was so very temporary, a fleeting burst of light in the dark.

Marco was about to apologize for reminding Jean about his imminent departure, but then Jean turned onto his back to look up at him properly. And when he spoke, his voice was fierce.

“I've told you before, nothing can keep me from coming back to you.” His eyes blazed with that earnestness Marco had always loved and admired about him. He raised a hand to Marco's face, knuckles brushing over his cheek, so Marco closed his eyes to allow himself the luxury of basking in this afterglow.

“I wish you didn't have to leave in the first place.”

The childish words had left Marco's lips before he could rein them in. When he opened his eyes, he found Jean fighting a sad expression off his face. For a moment, he feared Jean's blunt realism. This had always been the largest difference between them, even back when they were trainees who knew nothing. For a long time, he'd felt as though Jean found his idealism ridiculous, even as his motives had changed from blinded hero worship to a burning desire to change what he now knew was rotten from the inside. But what he saw in Jean's eyes now was neither pity nor condescension. It was longing.

“One day I won't.”

Marco's chest ached as he let Jean pull him down for a kiss that seemed to burn all the way into his soul. One day. The thought was heartbreaking and soothing at the same time, so close and so far out of reach. What mattered, however, was this right here, this moment in which Jean held him close. And he needed to savor it, so he could keep it with him for every lonely moment in the dark of night.

For every moment he spent waiting for a knock on the door.

**Author's Note:**

> This oneshot was legit therapy when I was feeling bad. JeanMarco heals the soul, I tell you. 
> 
> Thank you very much for reading. Kudos, comments, concrit, love declarations are very much appreciated.
> 
> You can also come say hello on [Tumblr](http://wingsofbadass.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
